


la belle de jour

by princessofthorns



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Enemies to Lovers, F/F, Football, Teacher-Student Relationship, Touch-Starved, Tumblr Prompt, requests are open
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-13
Updated: 2021-01-02
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:08:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27541345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/princessofthorns/pseuds/princessofthorns
Summary: This is based on a list ofKissing Prompts. Each chapter is a different AU.Chapter 1: Sansa is Margaery's Old Tongue tutor and they accidentally kiss.Chapter 2: Sansa and Margaery play for rival football teams and have a secret relationship.Chapter 3: Same universe as chapter 2, set six months before. Football rivals Sansa and Margaery share their first kiss.Chapter 4: Touch starved Sansa and Margaery in canon verse post explosion of the Sept.
Relationships: Sansa Stark/Margaery Tyrell
Comments: 38
Kudos: 151





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompts:
> 
> “A hello/good-bye kiss that is given without thinking - where neither person thinks twice about it” + “One person stopping a kiss to ask “Do you want to do this?”, only to have the other person answer with a deeper, more passionate kiss”

Sansa could hardly contain the trembling of her hand as she knocked on the wooden door in front of her. Her other hand tightened around her briefcase.

_Margaery Tyrell - Master of Laws_ , were the words engraved on the laminated door sign.

_Relax_ , she commanded herself. _It’s just Margaery._ It was not like Sansa hadn’t been to that same office twice a week for the last six months - each one of those visits being the very best hour of her day, by the way, but that was off the point.

It wouldn’t be different today, she assured herself. Their meeting wouldn’t change because of what had happened last week - when Sansa had _kissed_ the woman with whom she had a solely, exclusively professional relationship on the lips instead of the cheek when they said their goodbyes.

_Oh, Gods._

Three quick knocks, as usual, and Margaery opened the door five seconds later, as usual, smiling the way she always did.

“Hey!”

Sansa managed a smile of her own as she entered the office, keeping whatever distance she could from the brunette.

“Hey. How has your day been?” Margaery was wearing the attire that always fit her so amazingly well; her tight, tailored black skirt and her white top with its sleeves folded up over her elbows and its front a bit more unbuttoned than it probably should be - not that Sansa was paying attention to that. Or complaining.

“Gods, busier than usual,” she sighed as she sat on her chair behind the desk; Sansa followed her by taking the seat facing her. “We had a three-hour meeting on the Iron Islands issue. And by we, I mean _we_. The small council, that’s all. Robert was absent, again. Says he had food poisoning.” Her signature smirk took place. “I wonder what was the food that poisoned him, Absinthe or Sunset.”

Sansa chuckled. “I’ve seen more Robert Baratheon’s food poisonings than I can count and than I would have liked. You should be happy he had the decency of not showing up to you guys in whatever state he is now; he didn't have such sensibility on the mornings after our Christmas dinners back home.”

Margaery shrugged. “Skipping work and responsibilities is hardly a sacrifice for our Mister President.”

And then, as she tilted her head staring at Sansa, her lips curled into one of _those_ smirks. Her pink lips, the ones Sansa now knew to be so soft, and warm, and-

Okay.

“So.” Sansa opened her briefcase to get the Conditional Sentences exercises she had written for Margaery.

Margaery was by far the best student Sansa had ever had in all of those years teaching the Old Tongue to adults. She’d had an unprecedented advance in only six months, which was wild considering she was also the most occupied person Sansa had ever met - she was one of the _president’s_ advisors, anyway. And the Gods knew how much advice a president like Robert could use.

“I was so proud when I heard your voice messages last night,” Sansa couldn’t help the large smile that took over her face. “Your pronunciation is unbelievable, Margaery.”

Margaery’s grin was so gorgeous as she spoke, “I’ve been practicing harder than usual these past few days. Jon Arryn and I will have a meeting with the representative of one of the Vale mountain clans this Friday and I’m thinking I could make a better impression than what they usually get.”

“You’ll make a great impression,” Sansa affirmed. “You know I did a one-year internship in the Eyre, I know something about the hill tribes. They are not the easiest type to deal with, but I bet on you of all people to work them over.”

Margaery’s smirk widened as she supported her face on her hands over the table. “Is that so?”

Sansa watched piercing eyes as she nodded. “I trust your persuasion skills.”

“You don’t say,” Margaery laughed.

“Well,” Sansa tapped the exercise sheets she’d placed on the desk. “You know what day is today. You have one hour.”

Margaery rolled her eyes as she grabbed her pen and took a look at the questions. “Try not to stare at me while I do my test. Okay, teacher?” The way she said the word _teacher_ shouldn’t give Sansa goosebumps. “I get distracted.”

Sansa tried to go through her social media to absent herself while Margaery took her test; she couldn’t. She fought not to do exactly what Margaery had requested her not to - throwing quick glances at the other woman instead. The way a strand of light brown hair had fallen from her loose bun, touching her faintly pink cheek. The way she bit her lip so slightly and her tiny frown as she concentrated.

_Has she thought about that day?_ Sansa wondered. How she had walked Sansa out, and how they had forgone their customary peck on the cheek to place a quick, but certain, almost natural kiss on each other’s lips.

Because that’s what had happened - they hadn’t _accidentally_ missed the spot. It had _been_ a kiss, and Sansa suspected neither of them had planned for it to happen, and she also suspected it wasn’t really supposed to happen; they had never been to any dates or had anything beyond the very mild flirting Sansa wasn’t sure she should consider it to be serious or not.

Especially because, even if her interactions with Margaery had always begun and ended inside that office, she had _heard_ \- and searched - about the brunette; about how there were absolutely no signs of her liking women, about how she’d once had a very long and perfect relationship with the president’s brother and how she now had a perhaps active but very discreet social life that she did not, ever, mix with her work environment.

And well, Sansa was her _teacher_ anyway, even if they were grown women, and she couldn’t know if anything beyond what they already had would be appropriate.

Dwelling on her thoughts, she didn’t notice the time passing until Margaery lifted her eyes and handed her the finished test. “Send me your feedback tonight?”

Sansa placed the sheets inside her briefcase and went to her feet. “I will.”

And then she stilled, as they stared at one another. And she watched Margaery slowly standing from her seat, an almost serious look on her face as she walked towards Sansa.

Their eyes hadn’t left one another as they stood in front of the door.

“Listen, I-”, Sansa sighed. “I’m sorry, about last week. About that, uh, kiss. I don’t know if I stepped a bit too far… I don’t even know if I should be bringing it up like it’s a big deal, perhaps it was meaningless and-”

“You don’t have to apologize,” Margaery gave a small smile. “And it wasn’t _you._ We both moved on our own accord, it was an accident.”

_An accident._

So it had been indeed an accident, and it had been unintentional. And Margaery hadn’t truly wanted to kiss her; and consequently, she wouldn’t want to kiss her again. Okay. Sansa could live with that.

Which was why she smiled almost miserably as she averted her eyes. “Yes, an accident. Yes.”

She had just placed her hand on the doorknob when Margaery stopped her, delicate fingers over hers.

It was the fresh fragrance filling her nostrils and the sudden warmth next to her that made Sansa realize that Margaery’s body was so close to hers now.

“I meant, it was an accident,” her voice was silky. “Because I don’t think either of us wanted it to happen at that moment. I think we wished for it to happen on a more appropriate occasion, let’s say…”

Sansa felt gentle hands gripping the collar of her black blouse. “Tonight? At the new piano bar down Visenya’s Hill, eight o’clock?”

“I’m sorry,” Sansa blinked, “Are you asking me out?”

And Margaery’s answer was contradictory to what she had said about appropriate but it was everything nonetheless; the hold she had on Sansa’s shirt tightening as she pulled the redhead to a much more intense kiss than the one they had shared days before. All of the sudden, Margaery’s fingers were buried in red hair and Sansa’s own hands were squeezing Margaery’s hips, and there was a tongue inside Sansa’s mouth.

And, for all the reasons she had previously gathered, and because they were at Margaery’s office, in the Red Keep, the door unlocked, where the literal president could walk on them, Sansa stopped the kiss.

“Do you really want this?”

Margaery’s response was even more vehement then, her right hand finally locking the door while the other pulled Sansa with her as she walked backward, as she sucked on Sansa’s bottom lip.

They only came to a stop when the back of Margaery’s thighs hit the desk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tumblr: @bachianinhaone


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompts:
> 
> “Sneaking away to a hidden corner to share a secretive kiss” + “Kissing in a stairwell, giving them an artificial height difference”

Margaery’s smile was as kind as ever when she arrived at the post-match interview spot; properly hydrated and perfumed after ninety minutes on the field.

“Margaery,” the first journalist called as she blinked at the camera flashlights. “Struggling in the middle of the league table, I would say this tie was not exactly what any of the teams were looking for tonight. As captain, how do you think the aftermath of this match will affect Raventree City’s planning for the rest of the season?”

“It was surely not the result we were hoping for but I still think we managed to play some quality, offensive football tonight,” Margaery recited the words she had passed it on to herself from the moment the referee whistled for the last time.

“The fact that we still didn’t win shows us we weren’t what we were supposed to be - perfect. Stone Hedge was very efficient in the counter-attacks and I think this is something the coach will charge us defensively. But most of all, I think we’re on the right track.”

A dozen journalists called her name once again, and Margaery focused on the short black-haired one on her left.

“On social media, there’s been some noise on the penalty you were given at the last minute of the second half, the one that avoided Raventree’s loss. Some people claim that you looked for that contact after the defender slipped.”

Margaery fought hard to keep her lips from curling into a smirk. “I did not look for any contact; I was merely on my way to the ball when I tripped on the defender. It does not matter whether it was an accident or not, she blocked my pace and I fell; it was a penalty.” And then she smiled amiably. “Thank you for your question.”

A tall blonde man stole Margaery’s attention. “Margaery, you had such an inspired performance, your first goal after that dribble against the Stone Hedge’s midfielder and the second one with that free-kick. But we can’t help but wonder, why didn’t you take the last-minute penalty that would’ve saved Raventree and given you the hat-trick? Was the pressure too much for you to handle?”

Margaery narrowed her eyes at his last words. One thing was to call her a diver - well, there was not much she could say to deny that. But a coward?

“There is a reason why I wear this armband, and a reason why I wear this number,” she touched the number ten engraved on the black jersey she wore. “Myrcella had been frustrated ever since missing that open goal, and I decided to allow her the opportunity to score. There is no such thing as pressure; I simply put my teammate’s needs ahead of my statistics. That is what a leader should do,” she shot back with a gentle smile and hard eyes.

She answered a few more questions before her sight caught the number six on the yellow jersey meters and meters away from her.

As she excused herself, she was grateful for the path that the redhead was taking. Margaery followed Sansa through one of the stadium’s corridors, blissfully away from the press.

She heard the redhead’s gasp when Margaery pulled her into another, almost hidden corridor, away from other’s eyes.

“What?”, Sansa exclaimed as she found herself pushed against the wall outside a closet, right next to a staircase that led to an unused locker room.

“Hey,” Margaery grinned as she brought Sansa’s head down to meet her, pulling her bottom lip between her own. She was just sighing at the feeling of long fingers digging into brown hair when Sansa broke the kiss, whispering against Margaery.

“I don’t think this is the most discreet place.” A tender hand caressed Margaery’s lower back.

Margaery pressed a wet kiss on the spot under Sansa’s ear. “Don’t worry, nobody comes here. Arianne and I used to fool around here every day after practice back when she still played with us.”

And then she giggled when Sansa pushed her away abruptly. “I don’t need to hear about your adventures with another woman, let alone a Woody.”

Margaery refrained from rolling her eyes at the nickname given by the Stone Hedge fans to the Raventree players. “You’re right,” her hands slid from Sansa’s face to her hair. “You don’t need to hear anything.”

Her tongue was just darting out slowly to meet Sansa’s lips when the redhead broke their contact again.

“I told you,” Margaery breathed, “No one comes here.”

“It’s not that,” Sansa’s voice was impatient. “I’ve just remembered that I’m pissed at you.”

Margaery knew the reason full well but still asked as she stroked the nape of Sansa’s neck. “And why is that, my love?”

“That dive,” Sansa shook her head incredulously. “You’re so cheap, Margaery. Did you honestly feel so threatened about losing to us that you felt the need to play so low?”

Margaery laughed. “Oh, come on. Don’t act like that was a scandalous foul. The referee didn’t exactly hesitate to give the penalty.”

Sansa tightened her grip on Margaery’s hips. “Because _you_ fell on the floor yelling like she had ripped your ankle off.”

Margaery’s smile faltered as she retracted her hands. “Is this really how we are going to spend this moment alone? Did you forget about our rules?”

_Their rules._ The rules they had come up with months before, after they had slept together for the fourth time and realized that _that_ , them, was something they couldn’t run from any longer.

There were only two rules, fairly simple and expected when it came to a relationship between the Raventree City’s left-wing and the Stone Hedge United’s right back; the two clubs held the biggest rivalry in the country, if not the world.

_Don’t talk about football matters._

_Don’t let anyone find out._

They had been utterly successful with the latter; can’t say the same about the first one.

“You’re right.” Sansa pulled her more tightly against herself. “I have to say I’m thankful we only play against each other twice a year. You’re too cute but I don't think my love would be strong enough to survive you nutmegging me more than you already do.”

“Well, I’m also appreciative of the scarce number of times we have to face each other, but it has more to do with how tricky it is not to get distracted by you running after me on your sweaty uniform.” She circled the red horse crest over Sansa’s left breast with her index finger.

“I see your point.”

And then all of the sudden, Sansa was dragging her by the hand towards the staircase.

They were in the middle of the stairwell, and it was more silent and a bit dark - exactly what they were looking for. And then it was Margaery’s turn to break the kiss, freeing herself from Sansa’s hold and going up a few steps until she was towering over the redhead.

“What is this?” Sansa chuckled.

“I want to be taller than you for once,” Margaery shrugged as she rested her arms around Sansa’s shoulders.

“If you were taller than me, you would have been able to score that header I blocked in the first half,” she lifted her head to face Margaery directly. “If you were taller than me, you would have managed to lob me, like you tried, and _failed_ , to do today.”

The feeling of Sansa’s nails scratching her stomach through the fabric of her jersey and a gentle kiss pressed to the skin of her neck robbed Margaery of whatever reply she was ready to give.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tumblr: @bachianinhaone


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt:
> 
> "An unexpected kiss that shocks the one receiving it."
> 
> Ps: This is a prequel of the story we read on chapter 2, it's set 6 months before.

“Smile!”

Sansa smiled for what it felt like the thousandth time, carefully holding her trophy so it would be visible on the picture in a way that it didn’t seem like she was _trying_ to make it visible.

“Nice. Congrats, girls!”, the photographer said, before raising his camera again and going after Sarella Sand, who had won one of the midfielder positions of the Team of the Season.

Sansa turned to her teammates, Wylla and Brienne. The three of them had been chosen as a part of the CONWEBOL - _Westeros and Essos Football Confederation -_ 2019 Team of the Season, making their club, Stone Hedge United, the one with the biggest number of players on the squad.

Which was pretty cool, especially because the Athletic Club of Hill Horn had been the winner of the Women’s Conquers League, the world’s greatest club competition. Yet, on the TOTS, Sansa had been chosen as the best right-back, Wylla as the best striker, and Brienne as the best goalkeeper.

“Oh, look at her,” Wylla shook her head slightly, green hair catching the light with the movement, as she focused somewhere behind Sansa.

And the redhead spun around solely to see the grinning face of Margaery Tyrell.

Margaery, who was wearing a glorious blue dress, just a bit tight on the torso and loosely falling on the floor, with her entire arms bare and an unbelievable plunging neckline. She smiled to a camera, holding her Team of the Season left-winger trophy with one hand and her Couronne d’Or, the golden crown awarded to the Best Player of the Season, with the other.

“Notice how she’s holding the crown a bit higher than the squad trophy,” Wylla noted, and Sansa chuckled.

“Who can blame her? It’s the greatest honor a player can be given,” Brienne argued.

“Yeah,” Sansa sighed, taking in the shine of the enormous piece of jewelry in Margaery’s hand.

They were all at the CONWEBOL The Best Awards, the annual event that took place every October, in King’s Landing. The Couronne d’Or was the most coveted trophy, and that year Margaery had won it for the third time, more than any active player.

Which irritated her, because Margaery defended Raventree’s City, Stone Hedge’s biggest rival, yes - but also because it just meant a whole new year of Margaery’s poorly concealed arrogant attitude and superior little smirk, and _those_ annoyed Sansa more than anything else.

Especially when that smile was directed at Sansa herself; and Margaery really enjoyed smiling like that at Sansa when they met before matches. And talk to her, always with the same ironic gaze and that smirk that made Sansa feel like she was being furtively laughed at.

Sansa just couldn’t quite understand _why_ Margaery liked to provoke her so much. Yes, they played for rival clubs, but it wasn’t like Sansa was Margaery’s biggest opponent when it came to awards; they didn’t play in the same position, and Wylla was Stone Hedge’s main woman, therefore the one who could challenge Margaery when it came to the Couronne d’Or.

“Look, there is Coach Mormont!”, Wylla exclaimed, driving Sansa’s eyes away from the other woman. “Let’s go talk to her.”

They did, and Sansa quickly forgot all about conceited brunettes and _overestimated_ individual awards as the party went on. It was always one of Sansa’s favorite events of the year; meeting all of her current and former teammates and coaches, getting a chance to talk to players from other clubs that she usually just got to interact with on the field; seeing all those women she would normally see on dirty uniforms wearing those spectacular gowns.

And there were cameras everywhere, and the food was amazing, and the champagne… The champagne was one of a kind, and when Sansa drank one glass a little bit too fast she decided it was perhaps time for her to go to the restroom and take a deep breath.

But she was just the tiniest bit tipsy, hardly enough to let her display her displeasure when she opened the restroom’s door and found Margaery, leaning against the counter and redoing her makeup.

Before facing Sansa with the largest smile, “Hey! I was waiting for an opportunity to talk to you.”

“Why?”

Margaery’s smile turned into the smirk Sansa loathed so much, “To tell you my crown was not the most shining thing in the party tonight.”

Now Sansa did roll her eyes, even as she felt a blush creeping up her neck. She was wearing a tight, long-sleeved silver gown that stopped mid-thigh. Her neckline was not nearly as _impressive_ as Margaery’s, though.

“Thank you. You look nice as well,” she answered through an almost uninterested tone.

Margaery gave a small smile as she lowered her eyes, and for a fraction of a moment, Sansa felt bad for giving her a perhaps indifferent response - before reminding herself that that was Margaery Tyrell, her club rival and someone she and all of her teammates had learned to dislike very much.

Until, “Congrats on your awards tonight.”

Margaery said it so naturally, as she put some lipstick on.

Sansa narrowed her eyes. “I only won one award.”

“Oh, right,” Margaery pressed her lips together. Her lipstick was matte colored, and it looked nice.

“Perhaps when you said _awards_ , plural,” Sansa, better yet, the champagne started, “You were thinking about the multiple awards my team won. You know, the club with the most players on the squad of the season.”

If she knew that would result in Margaery smirking all over again, perhaps Sansa wouldn’t have said it.

“And I was very happy for all of you,” Margaery lied. “I’m so happy your club managed that when it still had the chance.”

Again, the words left her mouth like they were the most ordinary thing to say.

But they weren’t.

“What do you mean?”

Margaery shrugged, “Well, you know. Now that the VAR, the video assistant referee,” she explained it as if there was any chance Sansa wouldn’t know what VAR meant, “Will be officially used in all of our competitions next season… Forget I said anything.”

She averted her gaze back to the mirror, but Sansa pulled her by the arm, and she stared back at the redhead with wide and, Gods dammit, amused eyes.

“Are you possibly implying that my club is benefited by the refereeing?”, Sansa laughed.

“It’s not me, darling,” Margaery shook her head with a falsely innocent look on her face. “It’s the statistics. If it weren’t for refereeing mistakes, your club would’ve finished the league with nine fewer points.”

“And how many points would your club have lost if it weren’t for your diving? You are the biggest diver in the league.”

“I’m the most hunted player in the league, you mean.”

“Too bad I cannot say the same about last chances of winning anything,” Sansa shot to her. “You’ve probably already won the next Couronne d’Or too. Considering you no longer have to do anything to win it.”

Margaery’s eyes now widened with her not expecting those words, and Sansa liked it.

“ _Considering_ you got it this year without winning the national or the Conquers league, consequently, not winning anything important.”

Margaery blinked. “I literally scored fifty-one goals this season.”

“A true champion,” Sansa scooted closer, feeling the scent of Margaery’s luxurious perfume, almost closing her eyes with it, “Takes their clubs to the top. They don’t just break goal records against farmer clubs and call it a day.”

Deep down, Sansa knew she was wrong; Margaery was the best, most skillful and creative player in the world, and she deserved the recognition she got. _Still,_ the look on her face at that moment was priceless and Sansa would not let it go.

“Eleanor Mooton,” Athletic Club of Hill Horn’s right-winger, “Should’ve won your trophy. You know that full well.”

Margaery twitched her jaw, and her voice was controlled, “Are you saying all of this because you are aware that you will never win a Couronne d’Or while I play and you hate the thought of it?”

Sansa gave a smirk of her own. “I’m a defender. I will never see the face of a Couronne d’Or, I’ve always known that.”

That was no surprise; the only players who were considered Best Players of the Season were forwards or midfielders.

“You can see the face of it,” Margaery’s voice was husky and Sansa’s ears perked without her perceiving why. “You can see the face of three of them,”

She stepped forward and Gods, they were close and Sansa hadn’t realized it.

“In my shelf. In my bedroom.”

And then it was Sansa’s turn to blink. “What?”

Margaery closed the remaining distance, her hands grabbing Sansa’s jaw and yanking her in.

Their lips touched, and Sansa was _shocked._ Margaery’s fingers slid from Sansa’s face to her hair, nails stroking her scalp, and Sansa shivered with the feeling of it.

Her mouth tasted _so_ good, like champagne and something sweet, and she sucked on Sansa’s lips, leading Sansa to shut her eyes. Her tongue tried and invaded Sansa’s mouth, stroking Sansa’s own tongue, outlining her lips, and she pulled the redhead’s bottom lip between her teeth and-

It was over.

Before Sansa could do anything, touch Margaery, kiss her back properly, it was all over.

All there was left was that stupid smirk and Margaery’s flushed cheeks.

They jumped away from one another when the door was opened.

“Hey, we were looking for the two of you,” it was Irri, a Dothraki woman who played for the Dragonstone Football Club and who had won one of the centre-back spots of the Team of the Season. “They are taking pictures of the squad.”

Margaery only smiled before leaving the restroom, cleaning her lips with a paper towel and indicating Sansa to do the same, and the redhead followed her weakly.

She felt almost numb when she positioned herself among the other players. And every single nerve of her body responded when Margaery, who was right next to her, whispered in her ear,

“My real bedroom, with my trophies, is a bit far away. But my hotel suite isn’t.”

Sansa gulped.

And the cameraman shouted, “Smile!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tumblr: @bachianinhaone


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: 
> 
> "Kissing tears from the other’s face."

Margaery placed her cup of wine on the table; focused back on embroidering the golden flower on the dark green fabric on her lap.

Even if she had somehow been able to take the dresses she owned back in King’s Landing with her, she would not have had the chance to wear them in Winterfell.

She missed those; her gowns, her flowy, low-cut gowns that fit her so well and drove all the eyes to her. Not that the couple of dresses she had made for herself in Winterfell were not pretty; they were prettier than what the Northerns wore, that was for sure - at that moment she wore a long-sleeved white gown with golden details.

She missed the southern wine too, she figured as the taste of the drink she’d just had lingered in her mouth.

After escaping the explosion of the Sept at the last minute, Margaery had had nowhere to run. Her father and grandmother, who had traveled to King’s Landing to see Margaery’s trial, had gone with the Sept, and Loras had allegedly perished in Dragonstone from his wounds. Rhaegar Targaryen’s son and the Golden Company had taken Highgarden and kept her mother prisoner, and Willas and Garlan were now captives of Euron Greyjoy’s men in the Shields.

Winterfell had become her option the moment she had found out about its new Lady. She did not like to remember the things she’d had to do in order to reach North.

Margaery had plans. With her grandmother’s demise, Margaery should be the head of the family, and she had been planning her possible next steps envisioning the resuscitation of her House.

She would only need time.

Sansa took a sip of her bitter wine. Her grave, blue eyes never leaving Margaery.

When Margaery arrived in Winterfell, hurt, hungry, and desperate after all the tragedies surrounding her family, Sansa had been suspicious and distant but had offered her shelter all the same. A couple of months had gone by, and Margaery had only a handful of times recognized the sweet girl she had once known; even if she was sure now that Sansa had once again learned to appreciate her company, as she had gotten the habit of inviting Margaery for a nightcap of wine in her chambers every now and then.

Sansa was even taller now, and her presence was stronger. Her eyes held none of the fear and innocence from before. Her clothing was dark and her posture erect and alert, even when she was supposed to be relaxing.

“I have noticed you spend most of your time making dresses. How many do you have by now?”

“This one will be my fourth.” Margaery tilted her head to Sansa. “I could say the same about you. Most of your free time, that is. When you have free time.”

Sansa shrugged. “It feels productive to waste my energy on things that I’m actually good at.”

“Then I guess that’s a common feeling for you.” Margaery smiled. “As you are great at pretty much all that I see you doing.”

Sansa allowed herself a small smile. “Such as?”

“Ruling. As Lady of Winterfell. Making dresses and doing your hair. Dismissing Littlefinger, dealing with your brothers’ direwolves,” she grinned. “And I’m sure there’s more.”

Sansa chuckled weakly. “I would trade being able to deal with Ghost and Shaggydog for being able to deal with my actual siblings.”

Margaery gazed at her sympathetically. “I believe the years and their experiences have just increased the natural sibling bickering between all of you.”

Sansa nodded. “Did you and your siblings have this sort of relationship? _Do_ you and your siblings,” she corrected herself. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright. And not really, if I’m being perfectly honest. Perhaps Loras and I, we were very close in age, sometimes we fought. But he was also my best friend. And I’ve always gotten along tremendously well with Willas and Garlan,” she smiled.

“Willas did a better job teaching me how to read than our Maester did. And Garlan taught me how to ride.”

Margaery said nothing else, even with so much more to say, aware of the sorrowful smile in which her lips curled.

“I believe you miss them a great deal,” Sansa acknowledged, slowly.

“I do.”

“Is there anything else that you miss? From your life before. A small thing maybe,” she added. “Something that won’t make either of us sad.”

It was the way Sansa said it. Her voice warmer than it had ever been since Margaery stepped foot in Winterfell. Her blue eyes too kind.

The same way they would look a few times. In the past weeks, when she would stare at Margaery, without knowing Margaery was aware of her gaze.

She would look at Margaery differently, sweetly, and curiously, the only moments where Margaery thought she could see the little girl that had once lived inside that body.

“I’ve always been surrounded by people. My family, my cousins, and my friends, even in King’s Landing.” Margaery stared at her own hands, her open palms.

“I miss their touch.”

“Their touch?”, Sansa frowned.

“Yes,” she nodded. “I was arrested by the Faith, and no one touched me. Afterward, I was not allowed to be… close to anyone, until the trial. So again, no one could touch me. And after the explosion of the Sept-” All those months traveling North. And then the lonely, long weeks in Winterfell, saved from a couple of silent evenings in Sansa’s company.

A shuddering breath made its way out of Margaery. “I miss the warmth of someone’s skin against mine. Even the slightest touch.”

Everyone in Winterfell was so distant. They were cold, just like everything surrounding them.

“The warmth of my grandmother’s arm hooked into mine. My mother’s hand on my shoulder. The touch of Loras’ fingertips in my belly when he tickled me. My father’s hug. The feeling of my friends’ lips against my ear when they whispered secrets to me.”

She was whispering herself, she noticed. And when she lifted her eyes, Sansa had leaned in, listening to her, her eyes big.

“You think I’m silly.”

“No,” Sansa shook her head. “I understand. You’ve been alone for far too long. I’ve felt like that. After my father died. For a long time, until…”

_Until me._

They were quiet for a long moment until Sansa stood up and approached her. Placed the needles and the fabric on the table. Then she seemed unsure but grabbed Margaery’s hands at last. She was wearing gloves, but the prospect of somebody holding her hands was enough to have Margaery’s heart hammering.

She helped Margaery up. “Come here.” And guided her toward her bed.

Margaery lied on it, her head on Sansa’s pillow, her eyes not hiding her shock, her mind too confused. Still, too intrigued to question her.

She watched in fascination the way Sansa sat next to her and got rid of her gloves. The movement of her hands toward Margaery was slow and tentative. And Margaery gasped, loudly, when warm fingers touched her face.

Sansa’s fingertips caressed Margaery’s cheeks ever so slowly, so lightly, and Margaery felt a lump in her throat because it was so-

It was sweet and intimate in a way she wouldn’t have expected from the new Sansa she had met. And it was more than she had felt in _so_ long.

Only when she had somehow adjusted herself to the feeling, she noticed that she had closed her eyes. She opened up, taking in darkened, sad blue eyes watching her.

When Sansa’s fingertips stroked her jaw, Margaery shivered. And one minute later, when she dipped her hands and moved her contact to Margaery’s neck, goosebumps embraced her entire body. And a while later, when she caressed the nape of Margaery’s neck, burying her hand in brown hair, Margaery had to close her eyes again.

A thought invaded Margaery’s mind. The memory of Sansa’s facial expression when Margaery told her about how she longed for human touch. And then many other memories of Sansa’s rapid steps when she walked through Winterfell, never alone, but always distant. The maester, Littlefinger, other Lords, all the servants, even her siblings and her friend, Jeyne. None of them ever too close.

_She misses it too._

Margaery closed her hands around Sansa’s wrists, and it was the redhead’s turn to gasp.

“Would you like me to do it for you too?”, left her in a whisper.

A moment later, they had reversed their positions. Margaery was careful, and repeated all of Sansa’s motions, not wanting to cross any boundaries.

Sansa’s skin was _hot_ under her touch. Margaery liked the feeling of her cheekbones, the delicate skin around her eyes, the softness of her hairline. At some point, Sansa touched Margaery’s wrists, and Margaery was afraid she’d done something wrong; but Sansa’s hold was weak, and her thumbs brushed over Margaery’s knuckles.

While she massaged Sansa’s scalp, Margaery was astounded to notice a couple of tears across her flushed cheeks. She did not suspect any discomfort from her this time around, though. 

Instead, a moment of madness took over Margaery, and she found herself leaning in and pressing a light kiss on one of her tears. On her cheek.

Sansa gasped.

_So much for not wanting to cross any boundaries._

She was ready to retract, but Sansa’s hold left her wrists and found Margaery’s face instead - not letting her go.

Margaery kissed away the remaining tears on Sansa’s face. Before drawing back and taking in Sansa’s features.

Her lips were the tiniest bit opened. Her eyes were hazy when she opened them back up.

They were silent for a while. Sansa’s hands were still holding Margaery’s face.

Her thumb swept across Margaery’s bottom lip.

And her voice was hoarse. “Would you like me to do it for you too?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tumblr: @bachianinhaone


End file.
